


The Confrontation

by Caitlebug



Category: Weiß Kreuz
Genre: Angst, Assassins & Hitmen, M/M, One Shot, Roughness, Subtext
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-03
Updated: 2020-05-03
Packaged: 2021-03-02 02:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23977474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitlebug/pseuds/Caitlebug
Summary: Rewritten scenario fromlooooonnnngggggggago.Stand-alone fic. Yohji confronts Aya after a mission.Some roughing-up.
Kudos: 2





	The Confrontation

Aya stood in the hallway, ragged, waiting outside the bathroom for his turn. He tried to resist the urge to lean back again the wall since he was covered with blood and grime from the mission, but it was a lost battle before it began. The door hadn’t budget in a while and he would be silly to think it would. So he gave in and let his shoulders fall back to the cool wall, letting the feeling seep in through his t-shirt. At least this part of him was relatively clean, considering it had been protected by a jacket since discarded.

His eyes drifted closed before he knew it, adrenaline having left him deflated; he wanted nothing more than to fall into bed and let his mind leave the world, but he knew better than to streak his sheets with the after bits clinging to his skin. He’d never get the smell out. And he’d rather not make it a habit. So he waited, and he drifted, maybe minutes, maybe an hour, he did not know nor care.

Until there was someone suddenly too close and hot breath was on his face. His name was spit like a curse, and his eyes were flying open as his body tensed.

Too late. Yohji had gotten the upper hand and Aya had no time to get his hands up before he was pushed hard into the wall. He twisted, ready to roll or buck, but the other man was as fast as he was quiet and his hands were caught and pinned. There should’ve been strength left in him to fight, but the way that man was staring down into him, fury in his features, his green eyes fire…Aya could feel the pulse in him throbbing against his skin, hot.

“Back off Kudou,” he hissed, eyes narrowed against the assault. He demanded to be heeded. He wasn’t.

“Shh. I'll talk. You listen.” The man was menace embodied: impeccable control wrapped over thrumming violence. Aya felt fury rush to meet the challenge and a noise ripped his throat. He didn’t like to be given orders; he definitely didn’t like to be threatened.

He drove his knee up but Yohji was ready and rolled to avoid it. He swung Aya with him by the wrists, and this time when he shoved him back into the wall he did it with force enough to slam Aya’s head. Dazed, Aya cursed his exhaustion. He had given in, relaxed himself, thought the fight done for the night. That had been a mistaken. Now he had a furious assassin up against him and he couldn’t dislodge him. His guard had been down only for a moment but it was enough for the blonde man to sneak up on him, get a hold, and now the man had managed to get a knee in-between his legs, a thigh right up into his crotch. Aya hissed in discomfort.

“Kudou, I said back off.”

The pressure increased and his heart sped up.

“And I said don’t talk.” The man had whispered that in his ear, hot and moist. Aya shivered. “I have something to say.”

Maybe he did. The line of his body and the glow in his eyes were already speaking volumes though, seeking to intimidate Aya into submission. He was not in the mood to listen—not like this, never like this. Fuck capitulation. Fuck vulnerability. Aya’s body bucked, full of fury and hate and rebellion. But the man against him was too keen and too close; he was too ready. Before the roll could lift him from the wall, Aya’s wrists were gripped harshly and pushed into the plaster by his head, preemptive and brutal. Yohji might not be able to match him purely on terms of upper body strength but he was using gravity now to his advantage. The extra height of his body leaned down effectively to hold Aya still.

Disgusted, Aya glared ice and daggers, straining against the hold. It might not be enough to win him freedom but it was enough to convey his displeasure. Those green eyes flashed fury at the defiance. But then, there, past the screaming destruction, in the depths, Aya saw it. It was just a moment, but it was there.

Fear.

A wicked and terrible pride flushed through Aya then, even prostrate as he was, to see he could still provoke such an emotion in another assassin. He may have even gloated if his teeth weren’t gritted so hard. As it was, everything was tense fit to breaking, the air, their bodies, their breathing and faces, and for that unbearable moment, muscles tightening with every second, there were only glaring eyes, violet and green, unblinking, challenging.

Then Yohji leaned forward, scowling terribly, hot breath back on his face bringing reality down hard on Aya’s embittered senses. He realized then the truth, flooding like acid on his tongue: Yohji Kudou was not, and never has been, afraid of him. It often made Aya question the man’s sanity but there could be no denying that Yohji did not fear him. Even now, when Aya wanted nothing more than to turn and spit on him, to bite him, to bruise and maim him, the other man was relentless.

If Yohji was afraid, it was not of Aya, but of something else entirely. 

“Dammit Aya!” There was fury there now in his hissed voice, his tight control lost somewhere in the struggle. “Why do you always make things so hard! Do you even feel guilty at all for what you’ve done?”

Yohji's voice was ripe with ripped frustration, vibrating in his throat and chest enough to shake Aya’s lungs as he pressed up against him.

“So help me god, Aya. We’re not pawns or _things_ for you to use and dispose of as you please. So I’m warning you. If I ever see you flee the side of an unconscious, bleeding member of Weiss again like you did tonight, I swear I will hang you from the nearest rafter and watch you suffer as the life is choked out of you. Do you hear me? Because you better not fucking test me on it.”

The man’s breathing was ragged in Aya’s ear, and he could almost imagine his face tight, eyes squinting closed as he struggled for composure. The familiarity of it froze Aya against retaliation, an image of a different sort of tension in the man gripping him by the gut. “We’ve only got each other in this, don’t you get that? And once that's gone…there are no second chances in this line of work. We aren't invincible. We’re living, breathing people, you dick. Ones that fucking trust and depend on you to be there!” But the breathing here was so different; it didn't have the tinge of breathlessness it should. It spoke of nothing but pain. "So don't be so fucking arrogant to use us to reach your own fucking ends! Although an end is what you seem to be seeking lately!”

Yohji was panting now and trying to hide it, though Aya could feel the rapid pump of his lungs.Then he took a deep breath, pulling air right against the skin of Aya’s neck, sending goosebumps down his back. The thigh against him loosened its assault and the man pulled back, releasing Aya’s wrists as he did.

“We aren’t supposed to go to missions to die, you fool, but to survive and to let the deserving live.”

Those long fingers were suddenly in the strands of his hair at the nap of his neck now, and gripped them right at the root. Aya winced a bit at the sting but he didn’t resist as they maneuvered him and forced to look up. He hadn't even realized he’d bent his head.

Yohji’s eyes glittered with weariness, earnest and full of regret, as if knowing himself a fool for all he felt. He searched Aya’s face for something, briefly, who knows for what or if he found it, before re-meeting his eyes.

“Could you listen for once? This doesn’t have to be so hard.” Entreating? or lamenting. The fingers in Aya’s hair flexed before they loosened their hold and drifted softly down the curve of his face. A ghostly caress against his cheekbone that made him shiver. “Just, my god Aya, this doesn’t have to be so hard.”

Then Yohji stepped back entirely and the fight in him was gone. Those green eyes which had been so livid only moments ago were dull now, tracking the movement of his fingers as they slipped down and off Aya’s skin. Yohji watched them, staring for a moment as they hovered then fell to his side, perhaps noticing for the first time that he still wore his working gloves. The man had been so full of rage; now he didn't even look back up before he turned away.

Did he know? Did he realize? That it wasn’t the humanity or inhumanity, it wasn’t loyalty or disloyalty, nor rationality or irrationality. It was this that was dangerous.

If anything was going to get them killed, it would be feeling too much.

Aya watched him go then, frozen under an unnamable weight. Numbly, he lifted fingers to his slack face and felt the slick blood the man had left smeared on his cheek. Exhaustion flooded in and it hurt. But Yohji was already gone, disappeared down the hall and into the darkness of his own room, leaving Aya alone with his vulnerability.

Righting himself, Aya glanced at the bathroom he had suffered more than enough in a night to gain access to, and left. He couldn't care less about bathing anymore. Not when no amount of soap and water seemed like it would be enough to make him feel clean. Listless now, he tugged off the t-shirt he had been wearing and scrubbed it against his face, watching as smears mared the white fabric. He shivered, but the feeling was only skin deep. Then he headed back to his room wishing he’d gone straight there to begin with.


End file.
